


Nothing burns like the cold

by Weisse_Rose



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Cold, Hugs, Hypothermia, M/M, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 17:45:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1396819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weisse_Rose/pseuds/Weisse_Rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock get stuck in a cold storage unit. Based on (i.e. shamelessly stolen from) a <i>Castle</i> episode.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing burns like the cold

"Idiot. Idiot!" Sherlock muttered under his breath.

For once, John was inclined to agree with him. They had been chasing down a dangerous criminal on their own _again_ , because Sherlock _Bloody_ Holmes couldn't be arsed to wait 15 minutes. And now John was trapped and freezing his ass off thanks to the world's only consulting detective. He glared over to Sherlock who was still kneeling over the frozen corpse that had led them into the cold storage unit in the first place. This was the third victim of the murderer and now there was no doubt left that they were dealing with a serial killer.

John had seen the spark of realization on Sherlock's face in the exact same instant the heavy door of the unit banged shut behind him. The murderer had placed the corpse here to trap them. Obvious, really. Sherlock had figured it out, of course, but not quite quickly enough. Probably because his whole focus had been directed at examining the body. Nobody should get this exited about finding a corpse, John thought angrily. 

He took his phone out again and glared at it, willing it to get reception, to no avail. Even though he was wearing gloves, his fingers were already starting to get numb. They had to get out of here soon or they were in serious trouble. John looked around, trying to find a way out. The cold storage space was about 12 feet wide and 40 feet long. It was lined with two rows of empty shelves and had only one exit. The body had been placed as far away from the door as possible. John took a closer look at the door and for a second contemplated shooting his gun at the locking mechanism. 

Sherlock appeared by his side, and had, as usual, read his thoughts. "No use. All you would accomplish is a ricochet which, with a very high probability, would hit one of us." John turned to Sherlock and glared at him as well, for good measure. "Please tell me you texted Lestrade where we were going." The chagrined look which quickly crossed Sherlock's features told John everything he needed to know. "Dammit, Sherlock!"

"The clue which led us here was obvious enough to be spotted even with the limited brain capacity of the average police officer. I'm sure they will be arriving at this address momentarily."

"Oh, you're sure, are you? How comforting. Meanwhile, I'm freezing to death over here!"

"Don't be ridiculous. We have still plenty of time to get out of here without a mortal danger from hypothermia."

John glared at Sherlock some more, who was in turn looking down on him with his usual unapologetic superior air, which made John's stomach churn. He felt like taking the detective down a notch. "So, Mr. Holmes, care to tell me why you didn't figure out this was a trap _before_ he closed the damn door on us?"

Strangely enough, this seemed to finally have an effect on Sherlock, who quickly turned his eyes to the floor as if ashamed. John noticed that his ears were also turning red, but that could have been because of the cold. He let out a long sigh and rubbed his hand over his eyes. His anger had evaporated as quickly as it had appeared and now he was just feeling cold and tired. “Never mind. Any ideas how to get us out of this?”

Sherlock closed his eyes and put his fingers to his temples. John wondered where exactly one would store 'escape routes from cold storage units' in one's mind palace. The freezer, maybe? He had to grin in spite of himself. After a short moment, Sherlock opened his eyes again, looking frustrated. “No map to secret emergency freezer doors in there, then?” John said, trying to keep the mood light. Sherlock looked him in the eye and said “I'm sorry, John” and John knew then that they were in trouble.

–----------------------------------------------

John bit down hard to stop the incessant chattering of his teeth. He was starting to feel drowsy and at the same time all too keenly aware of the increasing signs of hypothermia in him and Sherlock. Scotland Yard had yet to make an appearance. 

Suddenly, Sherlock crowded into his personal space and John moved backwards instinctively, colliding painfully with the cold shelve behind him. “W-W-what the hell, Sherlock?” Sherlock wore a serious expression. John was quite certain of this, seeing as Sherlock's face was now _right next_ to his. He could see that his lips and ears had turned blue and Sherlock's already pale skin seemed even whiter than usual. “I might have miscalculated Lestrade's ability to find us in a reasonable time frame.” John was momentarily distracted by the fact that Sherlock's speech was perfectly enunciated as usual and he didn't seem to suffer from the same bone-shattering shudder that John was experiencing. Obviously, John thought absent-mindedly, he doesn't seem to care about a lack of food or sleep, it stands to reason that he wouldn't let himself be affected by a little thing like freezing to death. John might have also been momentarily distracted by the feeling of Sherlock's warm breath close to his ear when he was speaking, but he did not delve to long on that thought. 

“O-o-obviously.” John got a little satisfaction from being the one pointing out the unnecessary stating of facts for once. “How does that t-t-translate into you invading my personal space?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Don't be daft, John. Body heat is our greatest asset in this situation and we are letting it go to waste.” He inched even further into John's space and closed his arms around him. John rested his head against Sherlock's shoulder for a second, but then he had a mortifying vision of Lestrade and Donovan breaking open the storage door to find them huddled in a close embrace. He shoved Sherlock away with more force than he had intended. There was a brief moment in which he could see surprise and hurt flush over Sherlock's features but it was gone too quickly to be certain. 

“N-no. There's already quite enough of those rumours going around, thank you very much.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes again and let out a frustrated sigh. John couldn't see any trace of hurt in his face, but then again, Sherlock was quite a good actor when he wanted to be. “Don't be ridiculous, John. It is the only logical course of action. Anybody else would have done the same in this situation. There will be no tarnish to your precious reputation.” He almost spat the last word and John again couldn't shake the feeling that Sherlock was more than just irritated by his behaviour. He carefully studied his friend's face, but there were no further clues to be found there. Sherlock had closed himself off completely and wore a carefully blank expression. 

John rubbed his hand over his eyes again and realized that he had lost all sensation in his fingers, in spite of the gloves. He couldn't feel his feet either and had to fight down a quick surge of panic. He had always imagined that it would be a bullet that did him in, or maybe a knife wound if he was unlucky, but he never considered the possibility of freezing to death. It seemed a cold (Good one, John, he thought sarcastically) and desolate way to die. For a second, he was glad that Sherlock was there with him and he wouldn't have to die alone. Then he thought, a bit not good, being glad that your best friend is going to die with you. John decided that he might have overreacted a bit when he shoved Sherlock away. He had killed a man to save Sherlock's live for God's sake, it seemed a little strange now that he had refused to embrace him trying to, essentially, accomplish the same goal.

“I'm sorry, Sherlock. You're right. As always.” The last two words were only muttered under his breath, but he could see from the way that Sherlock's lip twitched for a split second into something resembling a smirk that he heard him nonetheless. To his surprise, Sherlock opened the Belstaff and partially wrapped it around him. John gave up and moved his arms under the coat, clasping his hands behind Sherlock's back. This was only marginally warmer than before. There were still several layers of clothing separating them, but the embrace felt surprisingly intimate to John. Sherlock dropped his head next to John's and leaned impossibly further into the embrace. John thought that the cold had finally gotten to Sherlock when he felt a slight tremor run through him.

–----------------------------------------------

In the end, the scene almost played out exactly like John had envisioned it in his mind. When Scotland Yard finally arrived at the scene and broke down the door of the cold storage unit, they did find John and Sherlock in a close embrace. Sherlock was sitting with his back against one of the empty shelves instead of the wall, avoiding even more exposure to the cold surface. John was huddled up against him, enclosed by Sherlock's arms. John would probably have been embarrassed to be found like this, had he still been conscious. 

–----------------------------------------------

John came to in the back of an ambulance. He was wrapped in a blanket but he was feeling cold to the very core of his bones. He was feeling confused and didn't immediately recall why he was there. Slowly some fragments returned to him and he felt a surge of panic when he realized that it was only him and the paramedic in the ambulance. “S-Sherlock?” he managed. His own voice sounded sluggish and far away. He tried to sit up, but the paramedic gently pushed him down again. “Easy, mate.”

“Sherlock. Where is he?” He feebly struggled against the paramedic, who gave in and let him sit up. Through the open doors of the ambulance he could see Sherlock, wrapped in a blanket, leaning against a police car. He was talking to Lestrade, probably telling him about the serial killer's next steps. His gaze drifted over to the ambulance and stopped on John's face. John could see a slow smile spreading over Sherlock's face when he saw him and was, as always, surprised by the radical change in his appearance. When he genuinely smiled, he looked impossibly young and endearing. John couldn't help but smile back.

**Author's Note:**

> I plan to make this into a series of Johnlock fanfics based on Castle episodes, including, but not limited to, _Handcuffed in the basement, standing on a motion-activated bomb, thinking they have both been exposed to lethal radiation_.


End file.
